


The Dark Before the Dawn

by ZoeSong



Category: C.B. Strike (TV), Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Possible Character Death, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 19:29:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15669792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoeSong/pseuds/ZoeSong
Summary: Robin is worried that something has happened to Strike.





	The Dark Before the Dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LulaIsAKitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/gifts).



> Many thanks to LulaIsAKitten for the correct British terminology for emergency room (A&E) curtain areas and for the inspiration to write this myself, as it began as a possible “First Kisses” prompt for her.

~~

Robin looked at her phone for what felt like the hundredth time. Why didn’t he call? It had been hours since Strike had gone to Greybeard’s studio, and he should have checked in with her by now. They’d been hired to look into the artist’s underworld connections – his agent was worried that he was smuggling drugs in imported paint containers.

Strike made her promise to stay at the office while he searched the studio – she’d agreed only when he’d assured her that he’d have Shanker with him. If Greybeard was indeed involved in the drug trade, he and his associates were likely dangerous.

And now, still nothing. The worst part was that Robin couldn’t call him without possibly messing up the operation – he could be hidden somewhere in the studio trying to get evidence. 

She waited another fifteen minutes busying herself by rearranging her already organized files.

Finally, Robin could bear it no longer. She texted Strike.

There was no answer. 

But what did that mean? Had he just ignored the text because of what was going on? Or had she just blown his cover? Or had something awful already happened and he was lying there unconscious and couldn’t answer? Or worse?

Just when Robin had reached the desperate decision of breaking her promise and going to the address herself, her phone buzzed. She answered so quickly that she missed seeing the caller ID. It didn’t matter; it had to be him.

“Cormoran! Finally!”

“Robin.” Shanker’s rough cockney voice came over the phone. “The bastard showed up at the studio and attacked us. We managed ’im, but Bunsen’s been ’urt. I stayed long enough to see that ’e was put in an ambulance, then got out of there before the coppers came.”

“Hurt? How badly? He’s not answering his phone.”

“No, ’e’s unconscious.”

“Oh! Where is he?” Robin started gathering her things as Shanker told her which hospital, and she was out the door before he’d finished. 

~~

Rushing into the hospital, Robin hurried to the reception desk. She waited impatiently in the long queue, glancing about the waiting room in a vague hope that Strike might have regained consciousness and be sitting there waiting to be patched up. No such luck.

After many long minutes in which she thought she would explode with frustration and worry, Robin reached the head of the line.

“I’m looking for Cormoran Strike, please. I was told he was brought here.” She spelled out his first name and waited while the receptionist typed — and retyped — the name into her computer.

“Are you related to him?”

“No, but I’m his emergency contact. My name is Robin Ellacott.” She showed the receptionist her driving licence, and resisted tapping her toe impatiently as the receptionist seemed to stare inordinately long at the screen to find her name on Cormoran’s record.

“Thanks, Miss Ellacott. Yes, he’s here. You’ll find him in...Cubicle 4, just down that hallway and to the left.”

“Thank you so much.” Robin turned so quickly in the direction that the receptionist had pointed, that she collided with the person behind her. “Sorry!” she called as she dashed away.

Robin hurried down a long hallway of cubicles with hospital personnel running in and out, machines being pushed past curtains, blood on the floor near one doorway, a crying woman in another, and all around her that antiseptic smell she always associated with hospitals. She finally found Cubicle 4 at the far end. 

The curtain was drawn, so she called out, “Cormoran?” in case he was being seen to and was in a state of undress. There was no answer. Well, Shanker had said Strike was unconscious, so maybe he hadn’t regained consciousness despite receiving medical care. Cautiously she drew back the curtain and peeked in and saw a gurney across the room.

Upon it was a body covered head to toe with a sheet. Next to it was a monitor that was switched off. 

Robin felt like the floor had dropped out from under her. “Oh, Cormoran, no,” she cried, her voice cracking over his name. She couldn’t bear to look, but felt she must, just as she had felt drawn to look at the severed leg when it had been sent to her.

It was like walking through water as she crossed the short distance to the head of the gurney. Gingerly, she reached for the top of the sheet to draw it back. But suddenly she couldn’t bear it — she drew her hand back. A sob welled up inside her, and she cried again, “No, Cormoran.”

And then she heard his warm voice say, “Robin?” Startled, she stared at the body under its sheet. Then she realized that the voice had come from behind her and she whirled around.

Standing there, in the living flesh, was Strike. 

“Cormoran!” Robin flew across the room and flung her arms around him, ignoring the “oof” he gave as she buried her head in his coat and pressed her face against his chest. She gave a little sob, “I thought you were dead!” and squeezed him more tightly.

Strike’s arms came up around her, and he said comfortingly, “Hey, hey, no, I’m banged up, but I’m alright. Concussion – nothing new for me, but that bastard knocked me cold. And cracked ribs – could you maybe let go – just a bit?” He tried to loosen Robin’s hold on him.

“Oh! Sorry!” Robin pulled back, glancing down at the binding that she could see under his half-buttoned shirt, and caressed his ribs gently. She looked up at Strike sheepishly, but instead of distress, she saw tenderness in his eyes. Before she could think about what it meant, he had bent to kiss her, his hand coming up to cup the back of her head softly.

She responded with a little gasp of surprise, and then with all the pent up passion she’d been hiding for months, she returned his kiss. He in turn pulled her back into his arms, tightened them around her, and deepened the kiss.

When they finally parted, Robin looked up at Strike, giving him a shy smile. 

He grinned back at her. “Come on, let’s get out of here, I hate hospitals.” He put his arm around her, and she put hers around him, supporting him slightly, and they headed out to find a cab.

As they rode silently back to Denmark Street, Robin laid her head on Strike’s shoulder, and he drew his arm around her once more. And it felt like they’d always been together. 

~~

 

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I have no medical background and did little to no medical research for this piece. Strike is tough, and we have seen him endure a lot of wounds with no medical attention at all, so of course he can suffer a concussion and cracked ribs and ride off into the sunset with Robin.


End file.
